


Don't Leave Me

by QuickSilverFox3



Series: Whumptober 2019 [27]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Canon, Protective Hawke (Dragon Age), Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 09:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21224204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: Where was Varric?Hawke scanned the room again, desperate for some small detail, something he missed the first and second and third time round this room. Varric's papers were scattered over the floor, pages and pages of his clear hand covering every inch of the floor except the path Hawke took.-Varric has been taken and Hawke will get him back.





	Don't Leave Me

**Author's Note:**

> [ My Tumblr!](https://inkformyblood.tumblr.com) Requests are always welcome!

No note! No nothing!

Hawke wasn’t panicking, he wasn’t, he wasn’t. He stood up from the chair, harsh movement knocking it to the ground and began to pace around and around the small room, stepping over the destruction he created in his frantic search.

He'd seen a bear caged at some fancy party or another, plucked from its home and trapped somewhere so alien to it just for nobles to gawk and giggle behind their hands at it. They did the same thing to Hawke, uncomfortable in the finery he had to wear, naked without his weapons, as he and the bear paced and paced and paced.

Where was Varric?

Hawke scanned the room again, desperate for some small detail, something he missed the first and second and third time round this room. Varric's papers were scattered over the floor, pages and pages of his clear hand covering every inch of the floor except the path Hawke took. Some were so heavily edited they were illegible to anyone but Varric, a riot of different coloured inks Hawke bought with what coin he managed to earn.

The rest of the room was in turmoil. Blankets had been pulled from the bed, Bianca’s arrows dotted the walls, the desk had been upended. Varric hadn't gone without a fight.

And yet their own caution would be what damned them.

This was barely more than a shack on the edge of a woman's property, tucked off the main roads and out of sight. It was a welcome break from constantly running. Hawke was used to it at this point, old habits from a childhood running from town to town, staying just long enough to hope 'Maybe this will be the one' before whispers on the wind made them flee again.

He never resented Bethany and Father. His own connection to the Fade was barely more than a drop in the ocean so he didn't fear the Templars for himself, but for his family.

But Varric?

He never complained, never uttered a word of serious protest, but Hawke could see the tiredness behind his eyes, the weariness in his movements.

This shack was tiny, overlooked by everyone and hidden from the world. The woman running it, a Dalish outcast judging by her vallaslin, was wary but willing when Hawke paid her, coin still littered with flecks of blood and Varric half propping him up. She didn't ask questions and neither did they, but Hawke saw her on some mornings when he left to find jobs that left him exhausted and bloodstained but kept them in coin. She'd stare, her vallaslin as striking as the moon with thick black lines cutting through the faded brown branches beneath until it resembled a wolf's face layered onto her own.

Hawke didn't ask and she didn't say but she seemed so sad when she watched them.

The bed creaked underneath his weight, dust spiralling into the air as he collapsed backwards onto it, a sob tearing itself from his throat.

It hurt more than he could have possibly imagined, to walk in and find the room empty and cold, fire extinguished and Varric’s papers, the papers he spent hours on and wouldn’t let Hawke touch, scattered everywhere. And ultimately, it was his fault that Varric was gone.

Varric could have stayed in Kirkwall, overseen the rebuilding from the depths and been a rich man. And yet, because of Hawke, because Hawke couldn’t face killing Anders for an act he was justified in carrying out, because Hawke was a coward, he was stuck hiding like a frightened rat in the pits and holes of Fereldan.

And now he was gone. Hawke tried to push away the images dancing behind his eyes, squeezed shut to try and stop the prickling of tears but to no avail.

Hawke dragged one of their blankets over his face, other hand finding the gap between the two mattresses’ pushed together almost out of sheer habit.

It was better, being together. To feel the presence of another person lying next to him, and having the option to roll closer, to hook a leg over Varric’s hips and bury his nose into the back of his neck to head to dwarf grumble; or to move away and know that Varric wouldn’t think anything of it, wouldn’t read into his desire to sprawl across his half of the bed without touching another person.

Hawke’s fingers brushed against paper and he drew it out of the gap. He smoothed out the creases and stared at the words scrawled in the centre. Varric was in a hurry when he wrote it, letters large and connected, smudged in places with ink splattered over half the page.

‘**Seekers. Find me but wait.**’

Seekers… seekers. Better than Templar’s at least. Hawke sat up and wiped the tears from his eyes, thumb tracing across the birthmark on his nose, bright red and unmistakable.

Varric can ask for patience, but if a single hair had been harmed on his head, they would see the other side of the Hero of Kirkwall and Hawke would rejoice in their deaths, dragon blood in his mouth, if it meant getting Varric back to him.


End file.
